


better to burn than to fade away

by champagne_enema



Series: Damaged Goods [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron), Smut, Switching, lmao I love that thats a tag, no really this whole thing is pure angst, past abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagne_enema/pseuds/champagne_enema
Summary: Loving Shiro is agonizing,  Lance has learned. He'd feel less pain if he was getting shot in the chest, or being flayed alive. That's what being in love with Shiro is like....Or, Lance learns the road to recovery isn't all sunshine and rainbows.





	better to burn than to fade away

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post for Lance's birthday and this was all I had in my drafts that was remotely finished so ya,,,
> 
> for those of you who are new to this series, I would suggest reading at least the first fic in the series, Damaged Goods, before reading this for context and whatnot,,, there will be another chapter bc I'm all about that recovery arc, but it'll take awhile bc im trash lol
> 
> pls enjoy my attempt at turning an angsty drabble into something with plot lol
> 
> _title from Nicotine by Panic! at the Disco_

 

 

Lance runs his finger along Shiro's chest, tracing a pale scar absentmindedly. Shiro pulls the cigarette from his mouth and exhales, a cloud of smoke curling around them. Lance tries not to stare where his lips had been pursed around the cigarette, but he's a weak man and Shiro has such _pretty_ lips.

 

Shiro meets Lance's stare and grins. “Take a picture, why don't you? It'll last longer.”

 

Lance groans at being caught, rolling off Shiro's chest and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling fan lazily spinning. It's entrancing.

 

“Not my fault you're so sexy. Can't help it,”

 

Shiro chokes out a laugh and takes another hit from the cig. He meets Lance's eye with a big, goofy grin. Achingly sweet. Lance's heart skips a beat in his chest.

 

Loving Shiro is agonizing, Lance has learned. He'd feel less pain if he was getting shot in the chest, or being flayed alive. That's what being in love with Shiro feels like

 

Lance hates getting caught up in his stupid emotions, so he sits up abruptly. He stands, letting the sheet slip from his lap, revealing his naked skin.

 

He saunters to the bathroom, heart in his throat. He can feel Shiro's gaze like it's a physical thing, heavy and full of meaning.

 

Lance hates that it makes him almost _giddy._

 

He closes the door with too much force, heart thrumming against his ribcage. He lets his head hit the door and slides down until he's crouched on the floor, staring at the cold linoleum.

 

Goosebumps pebble on his skin, but he ignores his discomfort. His gaze trails to his hand, where his wedding ring lies. It's a simple silver band, so small and insignificant, and yet it brings him so much strife. Just looking at it has his breath catching.

 

He's unfaithful. A _cheater_ . Sleeping with Shiro was fine, because it was just sex. But loving Shiro made him a whore, made him _disgusting_ , because it's only been a year. A year since he got the call, since his life fell apart. Since everything he held dear slipped through his fingers to ooze on the floor. Since Lotor left him a voicemail, _“just know that I love you, okay? I always will. But I have to do this.”_

 

He rips the ring off his finger, because he's a filthy, unfaithful whore who doesn't deserve it. Because his husband is dead and here he is, naked, in Shiro's bathroom, trying to push down his feelings. He loves Shiro, he can feel it in his very atoms, but Lance doesnt deserve good things like loving Shiro. Not when he's a whore, not when he's a useless druggie with all of his baggage.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Just-- _fuck.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_Lotor holds his face in his hands, pale fingers digging into his skin, branding him. His eyes are on fire, burning through him._

 

_“I am the only one who will ever love you,” he whispers against Lance's mouth, voice tender. It makes Lance's heart thunder._

 

_A tear oozes down his face. “I know,”_

 

_Lotor smiles, face turned kind at Lance's admission. He kisses Lance then, a kiss full of love and adoration. A kiss Lance can feel down to the tips of his toes._

 

_“Remember that, Lance. No one will ever love you like I do.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk takes a bite of the burger in front of him, chewing as he gazes at Lance speculatively. His eyes are narrow; not from anger but from curiosity. He's analyzing Lance like one of his projects, and it makes Lance shift uncomfortably.

 

This is why he'd put off seeing Hunk for so long. Because Hunk could always see straight through any of Lance's flimsy walls.

 

“And you're doing okay?” he asks once he's done chewing. Lance picks up a French fry and picks at it, slowly feeding himself tiny bites. Eating is still hard for him to do, especially in public. He feels so _exposed_.

 

Lance finally shrugs. “Define 'okay’,”

 

Hunk gives him a look. “I'm just worried about you, Lance. I haven't seen you in _months_.”

 

Lance runs his fingers through his hair nervously. It's grown out, kinda shaggy around his face, but he's too lazy to cut it.

 

“I know. I've just-- I'm going through some things.”

 

“I know, Lance. Of course I know. But you've cut me out completely. I just want to be here for you.”

 

Lance kinda feels like crying but. _Feelings_. Gross.

 

“Have you been eating?” Hunk asks. Lance looks down at his hands; he left his ring at home and he feels naked without it. But, well, taking it off is the first step to recovery. Or something.

 

“I'm trying to eat more. It's hard.” he mumbles. Hunk grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I know, bud. But you can do this.”

 

“Can I?”

 

Lance's voice trembles, so _weak_ , he hates it. “Of course you can, _of course_. You're so strong, Lance.”

 

He doesn't feel like it. “I-- need help. Something. I can't do this by myself.” he forces out. The words feel thick on his tongue.

 

“Professional help?” Hunk asks. Lance's heart sinks in his gut. “I don't know.” he whispers.

 

* * *

 

 

“I won't break,” Shiro groans out, clenching around Lance's length. Lance shifts at the sensation, his cock throbbing, achingly hard.

 

Shiro's back ripples before him, solid lines of muscle. The scarring isn't as bad as on his chest but there's still a few littering the taut muscles.

 

“I know, _I know_. Just-- just give me a minute,” Lance moans.

 

Shiro turns his head to gaze at Lance, eyes full of adoration. “Take your time,” he teases.

 

Lance lightly smacks him. “Don’t laugh,”

 

Shiro chuckles. As payback, Lance pulls back and rams in, relishing in the choked moan Shiro gives.

 

“You're so tight,” Lance admires, his hand rubbing soothing cicles into Shiro's hip.

 

Shiro impatiently rocks his body, and Lance grins. “I thought you could wait?”

 

Shiro turns his head to glare at Lance. “Shut up and fuck me.” he snaps out.

 

So he does.

* * *

 

 

“Am I a bad person?” Lance asks abruptly from the other side of the couch. They're at Shiro's flat, obviously. Lance's wouldn't _dream_ of ever bringing Shiro to Honerva. The _hag._

 

Shiro glances over, shock on his face. He's got a book in his hands, some classic about poetry or something. Lance has never been good at reading, so he didn't really care. Dyslexia made it difficult, so he never really tried. School was a bitch for this reason.

 

 _“Worthless dropout,”_ Lotor had once called him, _ages_ ago. He remembers because it stung so deeply. It always seemed so unfair; Lotor had the world handed to him on a silver platter, all for the price of a loveless childhood.

 

Shiro struggles to respond. “Of _course_ not, Lance. Why would you-- say that?”

 

Lance looks down at his hands. They're not as smooth as they used to be, when Lotor would buy him the fanciest lotions he could find, _as a gift_ , he'd always say. But Lance knew the lavish presents were a bribe. With each endlessly priceless gift he was given, Lotor seemed to say _keep quiet, and I will give you the world._

 

His nails were bitten raw, scabbed over and tender.

 

“I didn't graduate highschool,” he mutters, more for himself than Shiro, because it feels good to vent. He _trusts_ Shiro.

 

“My papá was so ashamed of me. He wouldn't-- let me stay in the house. So I left.”

 

Shiro said nothing, just watched as Lance ran his fingers through his hair anxiously.

 

“I did-- bad things, to survive, in the beginning. Lotor saved my life,” Lance's smile turned nostalgic, grateful. “He brought me up from nothing. But I still drove him away,”

 

The tears drip down Lance's face into his hands. He feels a sob bubble forth and forces himself to continue. “It's my fault he-- he killed himself. I was so-- so bad, such a _bad person_ , it's all my fault, _all my fault--”_

 

He hits himself, a heady smack against his own face that has his head reeling. It feels familiar, calming, so he keeps doing it. Nothing else matters but the ringing in his ears and the sting against his face.

 

_“--ance!--”_

 

Everything sounds like it's underwater, fuzzy. He keeps hitting.

 

Arms, one warm flesh and the other cold metal, grab his hands before he can deal any more damage. He looks up at Shiro's worried face, blurred by the tears.

 

“Why?” Shiro chokes out. “Why are you-- _hurting_ yourself like this?”

 

Lance closes his eyes. “Lotor. He-- he would, hit me, sometimes, to pay for my foulness. I'm a _bad person_ ,”

 

He doesn't want to see Shiro's  expression. He knows what people would think of him and Lotor's relationship. _Abusive_ . But-- no. Lotor loved Lance, he was just-- just teaching him. Lance is a bad person and _deserved_ every last hit, because it was his payment for being _worthless_.

 

“No, Lance. No. C’mere.” Shiro says, sounding almost _heartbroken_ , pulling Lance into an embrace.  “You're just lost.”

 

Lance sobs at the feeling of his arms around him, shoving his face into Shiro's neck for a semblance of coverage. It feels like Shiro is the only thing holding him together, like if he let's go Lance will just-- fall apart into a million tiny pieces.

 

He misses being held like he's loved. But that's not what this is, it can't be, because Lotor is the only one who will ever love a boy like him.

 

Shiro is wasting his time, letting Lance drag him down with his baggage. He deserves someone _whole_ , not a broken boy who can't eat and drinks himself unconscious. Who shoots up because it makes him feel a little less _dead_.

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers against Shiro's feverish skin. Shiro simply rubs his back, soothing him with his gentle touch.

 

_“It's okay. It's all gonna be okay,”_

 

* * *

 

 

Lance's leg bounces up and down, jittery and anxious. The plastic chair he sits in is stiff and uncomfortable; Lance slouches as much as he can.

 

“Stop moving,” Hunk gripes from beside him, lightly smacking his bare leg.

 

“I can't _help_ it, Hunk.” Lance pouts, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers. Hunk sighs in defeat.

 

The counselor comes back into the room, pushing up the glasses on his face as he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry about that, a client called. Now,”

 

He sits down behind his desk and gives the two an intense look. “You're interested in my services?”

 

His accent is _strong_. Lance can't tell if it's Australian or not.

 

Lance keeps his mouth shut, so Hunk speaks up. “Ah, yeah. We read some good reviews so, well, here we are.”

 

His fingers stray to his moustache, playing with its orange locks absentmindedly. “We can set up a proper appointment today, if you'd like. Will it be-- the two of you?”

 

Lance speaks up. “No, I'm the only fucked up one here.”

 

Dr. Smythe clears his throat, eyes appraising Lance. “Fucked up is a-- negative phrase. You need to come into this with a more positive outlook, if you want any sort of counseling to work.”

 

He shuffles a few papers, before pulling out an application. He hands it to Lance, who stares blankly at the page. “I have several open spaces next week, if you'd like to make an appointment now.”

 

Hunk grabs the application and looks it over. Which is good, because Lance had no idea what the fuck it even said. The words had jumbled together on the page and Lance didn't feel like deciphering it.

 

“Lance has an open schedule, so anytime works.”

 

Hunk sets up an appointment while Lance sulks in his chair.

 

The two leave toether and sit in Hunk's Jeep in silence.

 

“That went well.” he comments. Lance shrugs and turns his gaze out the window. Hunk places his hand on Lance's arm gently. “Are you okay?”

 

“No, I-- When I said I needed help, I didn't mean-- _this_.”

 

“Lance, counseling will be good for you.”

 

“I'm not _crazy,_ Hunk! I don't need a fucking therapist!” Lance cries, throwing his arms up.

 

“Listen,” Hunk says, deadly quiet. Lance jolts and stares at his best friend, eyes wide.

 

“You haven't been right since we left Cuba. I came with you because I love you, but all you've done since we've moved here is push me away,”

 

He takes a deep breath. “Lotor was bad for you, Lance. I didn't like the way he made you act. And ever since he's died, you've just-- fallen apart, like he was the only thing holding you together. I'm worried about you.”

 

Lance wipes at the tears streaming down his face. “I'm doing better. I'm-- I have someone.”

 

Hunk cocks his head. “Someone?”

 

Lance grimaces. “A guy. I've been seeing him for a few months. I just-- he's _good_ for me. But all I do is drag him down.”

 

Hunk takes a pause to consider. “That's-- good.”

 

“Good?”

 

He sighs. “I'm glad you have someone to talk to, even if it isn't me. But you need _professional_ help, Lance. This will be good for you.”

 

Hunk pulls up next to the imposing gate bordering Honerva’s mansion. It's gaudy and black.

 

Lance opens the car and moves to get up. “I'll be picking you up on Tuesday at five for your appointment with Dr. Smythe. Be ready,”

 

He hesitates. “I care about you.”

 

Lance grips his hand fleetingly and tries to smile. “I love you too, big guy.”

* * *

 

 

The next day Honerva is awake when Lance makes his way downstairs.

 

Living with her is-- an experience, that's for sure.

 

He still remembers when she first proposed the idea to him, in the fancy cafe. She had been almost-- _desperate_.

 

_“We need this, Lance. We're both alone.”_

 

 _Lance fumed at her, eyes flashing. “You abused him. You-- you isolated him from_ everyone _. And when he got too much, you threw him at the paid help,”_

 

_“--Lance, don't be silly.You know Lotor. He blew things out of proportion--”_

 

_“You hate me.”_

 

_“You're all I have left.”_

 

In the end, it had been pity that led Lance to agree to live with her. He regretted the decision every day.

 

“You've been busy,” she sneered around a cup of tea.

 

“What, upset that I have a life?” Lance snapped.

 

“You're whoring yourself out to that _Shirogane_ boy.”

 

“Are you-- _following_ me?!” Lance exclaims.

 

Honerva wipes her mouth with a handkerchief. Her eyes remind Lance of ice, cold and calculating.

 

“What would Lotor think, hm? Only a year after his death and you've replaced him? Where's your ring?”

 

Her words strike Lance straight in the chest. He grips the back of one of the dining room chairs, trembling.

 

“I deserve to be happy.” he whispers. Honerva laughs. “You deserve to starve on the streets like the filthy degenerate you are.”

 

“Why have me stay with you, huh?! If you despise me so much?!”

 

“I have no one. Both my husband and son are _dead_.”

 

“And who's fault is that? _You_ drove them away!”

 

She stands and strides forward, fingers grabbing at his face. “You'd do well to hold your tongue, McClain. You might lose it,” she hisses.

 

“Is that a _threat?_ ” he sneers.

 

She leans in so close Lance can feel her minty breath against his face. “It's a _promise_ ,”

 

She releases him, stepping back to smooth down her skirt, as if touching him had tainted her somehow.

 

“I expect you to be back tonight, Lance.”

 

Lance didn't say anything, just made his way out of the suffocating walls of the Daibazaal manor.

 

* * *

 

 

When Shiro slides his cock deep inside Lance, it feels like everything just-- _clicks_ into place. It feels like coming home, an actual _home_ , like his childhood house on the beach. It feels like warm wind and the sea breeze, like his mother's kisses and homemade garlic knots. Like cool rain dribbling down his face.

 

_Is this what-- making love feels like?_

 

Because, like this, with Shiro holding him close and sliding in and out, Lance has to bite his lip to stop the words from slipping out.

 

_I love you, I love you, I love youloveyouloveyoulove--_

 

He gasps, fingers scrambling in Shiro's hair. It's long enough now, brushing his shoulders and scraggly.

 

“R-right there. _Oooh_ ,”

 

“Fuck, Lance--”

 

“Mmh,”

 

His length rams into Lance's prostate, over and over, and all he can do is drool against the sheets desperately.

 

Shiro rubs his face against Lance's shoulder, the scruff of his face scratching his skin in the best of ways.

 

He moves his head back to look into Lance's eyes.

 

The _look_ in his eyes-- for a moment, just for a single _moment_ , Lance thinks Shiro might feel the same way. Might love Lance just as much as Lance loves him.

 

His orgasm tears through him, completely out of nowhere, and Lance screams. His toes curl and his fingers yank on Shiro's hair.

 

Shiro fucks him through it, and it feels like the pleasure is neverending.

 

He finishes not long after. The two pant at the ceiling.

 

“That was-- _wow._ ” Lance says. It feels like that's all he can say.

 

Shiro laughs breathlessly. “Yeah,” he agrees.

 

“ _Yeah_.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ayo come hmu on [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/smellymilky?lang=en)
> 
> I DONT BITE I SWEAR I JUST WANT FRENS,,,,


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